


Hot Hot Hot

by sanguisuga



Series: Aberrant Fragments [20]
Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Ice as a Sex Aid, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Summer Heat, do not copy to another site, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:06:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25724062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/pseuds/sanguisuga
Summary: It is blasted hot. Thankfully for Mycroft, Greg is a very clever lover.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Series: Aberrant Fragments [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/278295
Comments: 8
Kudos: 106





	Hot Hot Hot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darklinglisten72 (sagegirl72)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagegirl72/gifts).



> For my sweet pet, J. Thank you for being such a bright spot in my life. Happy Birthday, sweetbun!

"Blargh."

Greg chuckled. Or at least he attempted to, resulting in a noise that rather resembled Mycroft's succinct if nonsensical statement. 

They were both spread out on Mycroft's enormous bed, which had been stripped down to nothing but the fitted sheet. Even the pillows had been tossed to the floor in a heat-induced pique. Both men were as bare as the day they were born, with only their pinkies touching. And even that meagre touch was incidental. Neither of them had the energy it would require to move.

Why hadn't he had that damn aircon installed last year? By the time Mycroft had realised how bad the summer was going to get, all of the reputable companies had already been booked. None of them were able to fit him in any earlier, despite his not-so-subtle threats to their likelihoods.

No, they would have to suffer for another fortnight before finding relief, although Mycroft was seriously considering just moving the both of them into a hotel in the interim. 

They had fallen into a pattern of convening together after their workdays at Mycroft's townhouse. Sometimes they would cobble a salad or some other low-effort cold supper together, but most often they would both eschew the very idea of food. It was just too damn hot to even bother.

Both would trudge upstairs to the bathroom, where sweat-dampened clothes would be discarded in a hurried silence. Then to the shower, which was large enough to fit them both comfortably, without having to crawl over each other to reach the spray. 

With cool water cascading over their bodies, pummelling tiny icy fingers of relief on the backs of their necks, they would revive. Enough to talk of their respective days, to eye each other appreciatively, to allow hands to wander. Sometimes, hands were sufficient, but Greg could weave such filthy scenarios in that damn _voice_ of his that Mycroft simply had to feel him deep inside.

But after The Incident a few months back, they were both wary of more advanced manoeuvres while still ensconced in the shower. So they would retire to the bedroom, only to collapse into little more than mere puddles of men as soon as the stagnant air hit them. 

They were both a little frustrated at this point, which was another tick in the 'pro' column of Mycroft's inner hotel debate. Frankly, that bullet point was at the top of the list. In large, bold print. Underlined. Twice. He’d become far too accustomed to regular and frankly mind-blowing sex and had determined that he may just go mad if he didn’t get a proper rogering in the next few days. Just the thought of it had his cock twitching slightly, but even that minuscule effort to rally itself quickly exhausted all reserves of energy.

Greg grunted next to him, a sound of enquiry, perhaps. But when Mycroft flopped his head to the side, he could see that his lover’s eyes were closed, a tiny frown line between his brows. Mycroft hummed in acknowledgement, adding a silent question mark of his own, and Greg simply pushed out a deep breath in response. Then, with a clear effort of will, he rolled to the edge of the mattress and sat up, running a hand through his damp hair before heaving himself to his feet and stumbling out of the room. 

Mycroft tilted his head to watch Greg’s bare backside walking away from him. Even red with heat and criss-crossed with wrinkles from the bedding, he was as bewitched by its beauty as he had been the first time he had seen it properly. Mycroft let his eyes drift closed as a faint smirk played over his lips. That shambles of a man was all his, and he had access to that glorious arse virtually any time he wanted it. 

How on earth did he ever get so lucky?

Even though his eyes were closed, Mycroft was aware when Greg came back into the room. The shuffling of his footsteps, the faint sound of his breathing, even his scent as he ventured closer to the bed. All of the tiny little things that brought peace to Mycroft’s mind. There was the sound of a glass being set down on the bedside table, a tinkling of ice. Oh, how lovely. Cool fingers ghosted over his cheeks, and Mycroft sucked in a surprised gasp of breath. 

“Shh, love. Just...” Mycroft lifted his head slightly as those fingers guided him, and something was placed behind his neck. He settled back down with a sigh, already feeling the chill of the ice pack that had been thoughtfully wrapped in a tea-towel. “Better, yeah?”

Greg’s voice was a mere murmur, and Mycroft hummed in acknowledgement, wanting to preserve the somewhat blessed quiet. 

“Good. You just relax.” Once again, fingers brushed against his skin, over his eyelids. They were still cool, and slightly wet. Mycroft’s eyelashes fluttered, but he did his best to keep his eyes closed as he was bade. A fleeting touch at his mouth. “So good for me.” 

_“Hnghk.”_

Greg’s laugh almost covered the sound, but Mycroft clearly felt him reaching for something, heard the tinkling of ice clinking together. Therefore he wasn’t entirely surprised to feel the pinpoint of cold against his throat, but he still jumped just a bit. He relaxed as Greg trailed the ice cube along his collarbone and down his sternum and over his stomach, leaving it to melt in his navel. 

He almost objected as he felt the water trickling down the sides of his belly, soaking into the bedding underneath him. But what did it matter? With the fans running, it might even help to cool them enough to be able to sleep later. More ice, sliding over his torso, up and along his arms, the tops of his legs. Even his feet got a little cooling treatment, although when Greg ran the ice cube along his instep, Mycroft couldn’t keep himself from kicking out just a little bit. 

They giggled together, cool and easy, the oppressive atmosphere receding into the distance. Mycroft’s nose twitched as he felt something in Greg’s regard shift, and so he was not wholly unprepared for the slight sting of ice on his right nipple. It still made him jump, but that swiftly segued into a needy little wriggle as a nimble mouth quickly followed. 

Mycroft keened quietly as that mouth did wonderful things to him while intrusive fingers slid up the inside of his thigh, still trailing that lovely ice all along his skin. He spread his legs, inviting Greg closer, bracing for the shock that he knew was coming. When that little chunk of ice made its way to the hottest part of his body, that dank little cave beneath his bollocks, they drew up in dismay, but Mycroft could only moan out his approval. 

Gooseflesh erupted all over his body, tight and delicious, making him almost overly sensitive. He spread his legs even further as Greg shifted his body on the mattress, coming to crouch over him, his fingers steadily rubbing the rapidly melting ice down below. 

Then Mycroft heard a noise that would have driven him right round the bend if he had been subjected to it at any other time, the _crunchcrunchcrunch_ of strong teeth chewing on ice. He shivered in anticipation, balling his hands into fists to keep himself still. A bit of masticated ice dribbled out of Greg’s mouth as he stuck out his tongue and ran it up Mycroft’s cock. It had begun to take a decided interest in the proceedings, but the touch of chill made it baulk slightly. 

Greg’s determination won out in the end, as it often did. Despite taking a moment here and there to replenish the ice in his mouth, Greg soon had Mycroft’s cock hard and aching and he was whimpering with every touch - rough licks and soft sucks alike. 

Mycroft’s back arched as Greg pulled off, his breath puffing over his chilled skin and inducing a swift shiver. There was another sound, a soft click of a small lid, and Mycroft practically keened out his approval as a slick finger slid over his hole. It was cold as well, and he realised that Greg must have placed the bottle of lube into the bowl of ice earlier. 

_Clever bastard._

He slipped his hands behind his knees and held himself open as best as he could, cursing the sweat that was making his hold tenuous at best. Greg didn’t hesitate, understanding Mycroft’s desperation and unwilling to tease him overlong. First one finger, swiftly followed by a second, thrusting in firm and deep, sliding in and out with ease. 

There was a brief pause and a soft curse as ice once again clinked together, but then Mycroft gasped and threw his head back as a hefty chunk of ice was pressed firmly into his perineum. Greg took up some kind of pulsing, writhing rhythm with his hand, fingers in deep and grinding that ice in with his palm before taking Mycroft’s cock back into his mouth and sucking hard.

And then there was the heat, but it was the right kind of heat this time, the kind that shivered up Mycroft’s spine and made his toes tingle. Waves upon waves, being lifted ever higher as his skin flushed and even more sweat dribbled from his forehead and good Lord where did it all come from, he should have been wrung dry by now but _yesyesyestherejustthereohfuck..._

Greg growled as Mycroft’s hips stuttered, and that was it, he was lost as he gasped out his lover’s name and came and came and came some more. Greg sucked and swallowed and hummed and growled again for good measure, sliding his hand free as Mycroft’s legs trembled, his thigh muscles jerking spasmodically. 

Mycroft tilted his head and blinked languidly as Greg reached for the lube, squirting out a healthy measure and taking himself in hand. He reached out for him blindly, making little grabby gestures with his fingers as Greg grinned at him fondly. He came to him, as he always would, knocking their foreheads together gently as he panted softly into Mycroft’s open mouth.

“Love seeing you like this, love knowing I can make you fall apart.” 

“You. Only you.” Mycroft reached out blindly for the bowl of ice, plunging his hand into it and coming up with a fistful of mostly melted shards. He grasped Greg’s shoulders and let the ice-water dribble down his back, reaching out for more as his lover gasped and shivered, his hand moving faster between them. Mycroft reached out for more and did it again, sliding his wet fingers up into Greg’s hair and fisting it hard as he brought their mouths together. 

Greg whimpered against Mycroft’s tongue as he started to come, and his release rained down on his skin. Mycroft hissed quietly with the heat splashing over his chilled skin, absurdly imagining that he could almost hear it sizzle as it landed. Greg trembled over him, his arms shaking as he chivalrously kept himself from collapsing on top of him in a sweaty heap. 

He pressed a sweet kiss to the tip of Mycroft’s nose as he pushed himself back into sitting, still situated between Mycroft's spread thighs. Greg groaned as he leant back on his arms briefly, turning a filthy yet sweet smile in Mycroft’s direction. Mycroft blinked back at him silently, at his red face and sweaty chest, at his wet hair sticking up in all directions, at the weary but satisfied look in his eyes.

_You lucky, lucky bastard._

His eyes drifted shut for just a moment, and then there was a cool, tickling sensation on his stomach, and he cracked them open again. Greg had managed to find a somewhat intact piece of ice and was swirling it through the mess he had left on Mycroft’s belly, staring at the aimless patterns he was making as though he were in a fugue.

Mycroft groaned and flailed about the bedside table, finally managing to snag his mobile. He feebly pushed at Greg’s body with one leg. “Go pack a bag.”

Greg frowned and tilted his head, the heat clearly beginning to muddle his brain again. “Hm?” He nodded at the phone as Mycroft jabbed at the buttons. “Who’re you calling, love?”

“The Ritz.”

A slow, beautiful smile lit up Greg’s face. “Oh yes?”

“Yes.” Mycroft took in a deep breath. “We are going to go sit in a ridiculously frigid air-conditioned room until we are nothing but sentient goose pimples, and then you are going to fuck me until neither one of us can see straight.”

Greg snorted out a laugh and stumbled to his feet, making sure to grab the bowl of water and the bottle of lube along the way. “And then?”

Mycroft sighed with relief as the call connected. “More goose pimples, of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd or brit-picked. Characters not mine, but the situation definitely is!
> 
> If you'd like to get notifications and miscellany from tumblr, I'm at 'bitemebat.tumblr.com'. My activity there has slowed considerably since the Great Purge, but I also set up another tumblr just for notifications and other writerly stuff at 'sanguisugaao3.tumblr.com'.
> 
> I seem to be mostly active on twitter now, although the system confuses me and I really don't post much. But still, if you'd like to follow, I'm @sanguisugaao3 there!
> 
> (I'm also over on Pillowfort.io if anyone out there is giving them a shot - as 'sanguisuga'. Same handle on Dreamwidth, but I must confess that I don't do much on either site.)


End file.
